Sweat it Out
by KissMeDeadlyT-T
Summary: Romano's sick with a fever, and at his wit's end, Spain doesn't know what to do to help him. He's tried everything he can think of- antibiotics, cold baths, soup, but nothing will break the fever. France gives him a suggestion, but maybe all Romano really needs is just a good dose of Spanish lovin'. Rating may go up. Warning: Mild language, sexual themes, and yaoi. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Alright, so I've had major Writer's block and depression lately, which combined pretty much spells out like the worst thing ever for an author. If anyone who reads this has read and is waiting for the next chapter on any of my other things, I'm really sorry, I'm working on them, as much as I can everyday. **

**About this: This is something I found in my folder and decided to go with, because I'm trying to get over this damned phase in my life and get back on track. Also, since I am sick as all fuck with a fever, I thought I would have some inspiration for this. It **_**is**_** going to be more than one chapter, but I already have chapter two almost done and a general idea for what is going to happen in chapter three.**

**-Warning: Well, the rating might go up. I'm not sure, but there may be a smut thing in this. It depends how chapter three goes. So for now, all I can say is that there is some sexual themes and Romano's language, but if you don't like smut, just be warned that it may occur later. That is all ^^**

**-I don't own Hetalia and I sadly never will. (By the way, did you guys know there is going to be a fifth season sometime in 2013? YEEEEE)**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

Have you ever had a fever that just wouldn't go away? One that festered in your lungs and made you cough your throat raw and wouldn't let you keep any food down? One that caused shivers to tingle up your spine even as you are sweating buckets and your skin is like hot coals to the touch?

It's a pain, right?

"Tell me about it," Romano muttered to himself, answering the thoughts his inner voice had been narrating for whatever reason. He shoved his sweaty bangs out of his face and shifted, trying to get comfortable on the bed that he'd been stuck in for almost six days now. "Dammit," he grumbled, throwing the blankets and sheets off of himself as his body temperature decided to spike yet again and make him feel as though he was standing on the surface of the sun. As he was moving, a wave of nausea rolled over him, and he closed his glittery hazel eyes, forcing the regurgitated tomatoes and crackers from earlier back down. He had a bucket beside his bed, just in case, but he really didn't want to throw up again; his throat was burning enough as it was, thank you.

What he did want, however, was a glass of water to soothe that raw, parched throat. He grumbled to himself again. Like hell he was going to get up when he felt like this. Normally, he'd call for his brother, but since Veneziano had decided to have that Potato Bastard, Japan, Greece and a few other countries Romano could care less about over, the Italy household was full. Plus, Romano did not want to be in the same country, let alone house, as all those couples that were most likely going at it every night, so he'd left in a fit of anger and ended up wandering the streets with nowhere to go. Eventually, after passing a tomato stand, he'd (unwillingly) decided to see if Spain would let him stay there for a week or so, and to his partial resolute dismay, the tomato-loving Spaniard had agreed right away.

It was weird to be back in that house after leaving it so long ago, but for some reason (he'd never admit it), he was happier and more relaxed in the familiar place than he was in his own home. Spain was all touchy-feely and squealing about how cute and tomato-like Romano was, as usual, but deep down inside it made him happy, since Spain was the one person who treated him as equal, if not superior to his younger brother. Spain made him feel loved.

Of course, being himself, he'd never admit that to anyone. Ever.

To top off with having to deal with that fucktard's paedophilic, overly-affectionate, but somehow comforting ways, Romano's immune system had decided to peace out (probably because of some civil arguments within his country) and allow him to get sick with the worse flu he'd had since... well, decades, maybe centuries ago, back when he'd actually been living as a child with Spain. His brother was probably feeling it too, or at least he hoped. He didn't like suffering alone, and plus this was all Veneziano's fault anyways. Stupid little brother inviting Potato Bastards and such to their humble abode, where no Potato Bastard should ever put his filthy potato-loving foot into.

Dammit, his throat was still burning even after all that inner raging and ranting. He didn't want to call for Spain, though, and seem like the helpless child he used to be. Eventually, though, his thirst got the better of him and he croaked, "Spain!" He cringed at the patheticness of it. He sounded like an old dying toad. He coughed a few times and swallowed, attempting to wet his throat, then tried again. "Spaaaaiiin!" he whined. "Come heeere!"

"_Un momento, Romano!_" Spain's voice called back from the lower floor, where the clinking of pots and pans could be heard. Romano grumbled, falling back onto the pillows, and started to shiver again. He was soaked in cold sweat, his loose red PJ pants loose around gleaming hips and his shirt tossed to the side long ago. He debated whether or not to put the blankets back on; since when he did, he always got really hot a few moments later. Another shudder tore through him, and he decided _fuck it_, and reached to pull them back up. Spain's scent overwhelmed him, and for a moment, all he could do was sit there in a daze, before finally shaking himself out of it.

He was just getting curled up, wincing at the dull aches and pains that shot through him from the movements, when Spain's curly brown haired head peeked in through the door. "How are you feeling, _mi tomate?_"

Romano was feeling so miserably shitty that he didn't even kick up a fuss about that little tedious nickname. "I'm fine," he lied, because he didn't want to seem too annoying. Spain's green eyes studied him dubiously.

"You don't look fine," he said, opening the door all the way and leaning on the frame. The top three buttons of his white collared shirt were undone, and made the caramel-coloured skin underneath look even darker in contrast. He was wearing tight black jeans that hugged his hips perfectly, and he was holding a set of keys in his left hand.

Romano flushed, although he wasn't sure why. He blamed it on his fever. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked, mostly to change the subject, partially because he didn't want Spain to leave.

Spain nodded. "I was going to go pick up some groceries, and some more antibiotics for your fever."

"Oh... I'm fine, don't—"

"You're clearly not fine, Lovino."

Dammit... Spain only said his human name like that when he was serious. Romano sighed, uncharacteristically passive. "Okay, I feel like complete shit. Happy?"

"Not at all," Spain frowned. "I can't be happy when someone I care about isn't feeling well."

Romano felt his cheeks warm and had to push the blankets off a bit, until they were just covering his legs. He hated the way that his heart did a stupid little flutter at Spain's nonchalant admission that he cared for Romano, that the idiot had no idea how much that one statement meant to him. Spain was really annoying, but he was special, and Romano wouldn't admit that he was the one person he cared for and could actually tolerate without wanting to bash his head into the nearest chainsaw. He cleared his throat, blushing, and gruffly said, "Water. Can I have some?"

Spain nodded and went off, returning moments later with a glass of water in his hand. He walked over to Romano's bedside and handed the sick nation the glass, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching Romano with worried eyes. Romano ignored the stare, gulping down the cold water. When he was done, he placed the glass on the night table, still avoiding Spain's scrutinizing stare.

"It's still pretty bad, huh?" Damn, his lisp was just adorable. Romano liked to think that it was the fever making him think that, but he'd always found it sort of endearing.

He shrugged. "It's getting better," he lied. Spain looked at him doubtfully. "What?" Romano snapped defensively. "I'll be fine in a day or two."

"None of the medicines are doing anything, are they? You've been stuck in my room for days."

"Are you not listening? I said I'm fine."

Spain ignored him again, placing his cool palm on Romano's forehead. The younger hissed at the contrasting temperatures, but he had to admit that the coolness felt good on his fiery skin. The contact made his heart flutter, and the way Spain was leaning closer to him made it start beating erratically against his ribcage, like it was trying to escape. He started to sweat again and threw the blankets off completely, kicking them off of the bed with his feet before flopping back onto the bed.

"It's just the fever that's left, right?"

Romano started to protest that he was fine again, but decided against it. Begrudgingly, he mumbled, "Sort of. I still have a bit of a cough, I think, and my stomach won't keep much down. But it's mostly just the fever."

Spain's frown deepened, his forehead creasing in worry. He gently pushed Romano's dark brown hair out of feverish eyes, and the locks in between his fingers were damp with sweat. "It's been nearly a week now. Maybe you should go to the hospital."

"No!" Romano protested, cringing at the thought of some old dude in a white suit with gloves approaching him. "It'll go away on its own. Don't get a doctor."

"But they can help—"

"Get a doctor, and I'll kick you somewhere a man should never be kicked. Plus, I'm a country. I don't think they have doctors for us."

Spain winced, but rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. But what are we going to do? We've tried everything I can think of; antibiotics, soup, cold baths, sleep; but your fever won't break."

"How should I know, dammit?"

"I don't know... _Lo siento, _Romano. I wish I knew how to help you..." Spain's face drooped with sadness. Romano squirmed a bit, unsure what to do.

Finally he just said, "It's not your fault, so don't be sorry."

Spain smiled sadly at him. "I know. But I can't help worrying about you." He stood up. "I can go ask people if they know a way to get rid of a fever while I'm out doing the groceries. Do you need anything else before I go?"

"Uh... another glass of water, I guess. And an Advil."

Spain nodded and grabbed the empty glass from the night table, smiling once at Romano before heading into the bathroom across the hall. Romano heard the taps turn on and the swishing sound of water filling up the glass, a strange sort of fuzzy warm feeling spreading through his chest. It wasn't a heat rush from his fever; it was something different, something that Spain's worrying and caring made him feel. He flushed when Spain walked back into the room, that sad smile still on his face.

The glass was set on the night table with a muted 'clunk', along with the tiny blue painkiller, and Spain bent down to press his hand against Romano's hot forehead again. Romano shut his eyes, his lips trembling for some reason, his heart beating unnaturally quick. He hadn't really noticed earlier, but Spain smelt really good today; he must've spent a good amount of time in the tomato fields, because he smelt almost good enough to eat. Something heated up deep in Romano's core.

Something soft pressed to the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. He opened them tiredly and was shocked to see Spain's face right in front of his, and saw with a heart-thudding realization that Spain was kissing him, pressing his lips softly against his nose as an apology for something he couldn't help but desperately wished he could. Romano didn't know why he didn't scream and kick the bastard in the face, but instead let his eyes flutter back shut and his cheeks tint pink, heart beating even quicker against his chest. His body relaxed and he suddenly felt very sleepy. He found himself struggling to stay awake.

"Rest now, _mi tomate,_" Spain said softly, pulling away. "I'll be back in a bit."

By the time Spain shut the door quietly and left, Romano was already fast asleep.

xxXXxxXXxx

Spain was sitting in the front seat of his bright red car, scrolling through his contacts list and cursing under his breath. He should probably be heading home, since he had some groceries that shouldn't be sitting under the sun, but he didn't really care about that right now. No one was picking up the phone! He didn't know who to talk to and ask for advice on getting a fever to break, since the pharmacy had stupidly decided to be closed and Romano was firmly against going to the doctor's.

"_Mierda_," he grumbled, scrolling up to the top again. Maybe he'd missed someone.

Austria was out with Hungary, and he was no help in that field anyway. Belgium wasn't answering her phone, and neither were Monaco or Netherlands. Prussia was... well, he was Prussia, and he was busy trying to figure out the best way to beat Canada in a game of hockey. Romano was obviously out of the question, Germany had his hands full with Veneziano, and Greece was sleeping. Japan had suggested everything they'd already tried, and everyone else was either partying and getting drunk or hungover and too fucked up to help in any way. He sighed, slumping down in the leather seat.

People walked by, pushing their shopping carts and staring occasionally as though wondering why a young man would be sitting in his car in the grocery store parking lot, cursing and mumbling to himself as he stared at his iPhone. He wondered why. It wasn't that uncommon...

He was about to throw the phone at the window when he scrolled past a name he had somehow missed the dozen or so other times he'd gone through the list. How the hell did he manage to skip this name? He stared at the screen for a few moments, wondering if it was even worth it. He sighed once more. Well, no one else was helping, what else was there to lose?

The number dialled and he waited as patiently as he could as it rung and rung. He was about to hang up, cursing under his breath, when the telltale 'click' of the phone being answered stopped him.

"Hey, France?" he said immediately, not even waiting for a greeting. "I need your help."

There was no answer for a moment save for a string of curses and then a very pissed off, muffled, _"Why would you answer the phone _now_ of all times, you bloody frog?" _The voice was very crisp and annoyed, and it sounded disturbingly breathless. Spain chewed his bottom lip, unsure whether to laugh or cry from the image that was forming in his head of what he seemed to have interrupted. He usually wasn't very good at assessing the situation, but this one was pretty obvious.

"_It's Antonio! He's a little bit stupid! He might be bleeding in a ditch somewhere!"_

"_I don't give a damn about that—"_

"_Shhh! He'll hear you, stupid,_" France hissed. Clearer and directed towards Spain this time, he said, "Bonjour_?"_

"Sorry, am I interrupting?"

"_Bloody right you're interrupting, you filthy piece of—"_

There was more muffled movements and a few French curses, and then France said breathlessly, "Non_, do not worry. It's just Arthur, we were just... ehm, having tea, and you know how he loves his tea."_

"Errr...right," Spain answered lamely. "I'm sure he does love his... _tea._ I'll make this quick." Mostly so that he could blissfully stop hearing Britain's muffled yelling and annoyed curses and France's occasional grunts as he struggled to keep the temperamental country under control. "Lovino is_ muy enfermo—_very sick—with a fever, and I don't know what to do. We've tried everything I can think of, but nothing is working," he said frustratedly. "I was just wondering if you have any suggestions."

France made a 'hmmm' sound, and then suddenly did his signature perverted chuckle. Spain had a strange feeling France's suggestion was going to be questionable to Romano's tastes. "What, Francis?" he asked impatiently as the French man continued to chuckle.

"_You have tried to sweat it out,_ non?"

Spain paused. "What? What do you mean?"

"_You've never heard of it?_" France sounded amused. "_It's pretty simple,_ _Toni. The trick is that you're not actually sweating out the fever, but the _cause_ of the fever. The viruses and stuff that cause the fever die at a temperature higher than normal body temperatures—which is why you have the fever in the first place, it's your body's way of fighting of the bacteria. If you increase his body heat enough, it'll kill off those viruses quicker than it normally would, and his fever would break."_ He finished with a little hum, and Britain's muffled cursing could be heard.

Spain blinked in surprise. France... had actually said something intelligent that made a lot of scientific sense. He smiled excitedly. "Ah, _gracias_! Great! I'll just make him sit in a bunch of blankets and stuff! Thanks, France!"

France's smirk was evident in his voice. "_Why would you do that? There are funner ways to make one sweat, _non?_"_

"Huh?" Spain asked obliviously. "Like what?"

Instead of an answer, what Spain got was a shuffling movement as France did his laugh, and then Britain suddenly choked out a cry of pleasure.

"_Hey! Y-you're still on the pho—ahh!"_

"_Oh hon hon hon~"_

"_Francis—goddamnit, g-get off the phone!"_

Spain turned red up to the tips of his ears as France said, "_You get the idea?"_

"Got it," he said quickly. "Thanks France I'll talk to you later have fun bye," he blurted without breathing between words. He hung up and threw his phone to the side, rubbing his hands on his face. Thanks to France, his overly-imaginative mind was now taking him places he hadn't dared to go except in the safety of his own room at night, and he was now sporting the beginnings of a very painful erection at the images flying through his head. Ones that he very much wanted to try, but knew would probably cause Romano to murder him in the most gruesome of ways. He groaned.

"Stupid Romano," he muttered. "Why are you so stubborn? I could make you feel so good..."

That statement made his imagination go off the deep end again. A very convincing image of a blushing Romano, drooling mouth open as he gasped for air and moaned Spain's name and stared up at Spain with seductive Italian eyes ran through his head, and he couldn't stop the tiny whimper that bubbled up his throat. He slapped himself, firmly changing the course of his thoughts, and willed the arousal thrumming through his body to calm down. Once he was settled down enough to concentrate, he bit the insides of his cheeks and put the car in ignition. Despite France's pervertedness, the man actually had a point, and Spain supposed it couldn't hurt to try. Try his original idea with the blankets, that is— he wasn't about to attempt to seduce Romano into anything. He liked having his dick where it was and not in pieces on the floor.

Jaw set in determination, he backed out of the stall and tore out of the parking lot, tires squealing as he sped down the streets of Madrid back to his house.

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Aw yeaah France being a pervert. Anyways, how was this? Does anyone want more? Or do you wish for me to go crawl into a hole and die and never, ever write again? Please leave a review, and let me know! **


	2. Chapter 2

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Thanks to those who read and reviewed and stuff. I smiled a lot :D **

**The next chapter may take a while to come out. I have it partially done, but I have to go out of town to Quebec for some family stuff, and I won't have much time to write there. I will try to get it done and post it as soon as I'm back, but since I will have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on, it still might take a while after that. I apologize if this makes anyone sad. Probably, you just really don't care. :D**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

Spain tiptoed up the stairs and down the hall, a heap of blankets and pillows and a hot water bottle in his arms. It was hard to keep quiet when he was concentrating on not dropping anything and not tripping, but he managed to avoid all the creaky floorboards and shuffle down the hall without much noise. Quietly, he eased open the door to his room, where Romano was bedridden, calling out softly, "Romano? I'm back."

His only answer was slow, heavy breathing, laced with an occasional moan of discomfort. His heart throbbed painfully and he approached his bed, dropping the blankets and pillows onto the ground with a muted 'thump'. He sat on the edge of the bed, softly so as not to rouse Romano from what seemed to be an uneasy sleep. Even in sleep, the Italian hadn't lost that look of discomfort; his features were pinched and his cheeks red, eyelids twitching as though his eyes were rolling around underneath them. Spain ran his fingers through Romano's dark red bangs and pushed them back from his sweaty forehead, something heavy and painful sitting in his stomach. He hated seeing Romano in pain. He wished desperately that he could do something to help, something that would work for sure, so that Romano could go back to his usual grumpy, sullen self, not this sickly, half-assed angry attitude he put on lately. He wanted his Romano back.

Romano stirred, rolling onto his back. A line appeared between his eyebrows and he let out a shaky breath, a low moan of pain leaving his dry lips. Spain's heart clenched.

"Romano," he whispered, stroking his thumb over the Romano's flushed cheek. "Oh, Romano, I love you so much... I wish I could make you better."

"Antonio," Romano murmured. Spain paused for a moment, unsure if Romano was awake, but after a few moments he discerned he was still sleeping. Something fluttered in his stomach. Romano was saying his name in his sleep.

Spain couldn't help but feel like he was going to cry. A watery smile curved his lips. "Romano," he said, shaking the Italian's shoulder gently. Romano groaned, rolled over, and started snoring. Spain rolled his eyes, amused. He shook him again. "Lovino," he said, louder this time. When Romano still didn't respond, Spain pressed his lips together in frustration.

"You are such a pain," he murmured. He decided to use a different tactic. Climbing up onto the bed, he bridged himself over Romano's curled up body and bounced on his knees and hands. "Roma_nooooooo_, Roma_nooooooo_, Romano, wake _uuuuuup_~!" He said in an annoying sing-song voice. There was a muffled curse mostly swallowed by the pillow, but Spain caught the Italian insults and grinned. He ceased bouncing and got off the bed, leaning against it as he waited for Romano to wake up.

"I have something we can try," he said. He noticed Romano seemed to be dizzy and was having a hard time sitting up, so he quickly grabbed his elbows and helped him to a sitting position. Romano grumbled groggy protests about not needing help, but Spain ignored them, because it was obvious Romano _did_ need help. Once Romano was comfortably propped up against the fluffy pillows, he sent a glare Spain's way.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his eyes glittery and skin flushed. He looked adorably tired, his hair messed up on one side and a bit of dried drool in the right corner of his lips. He looked like he was in extreme discomfort but was trying to hide it. Spain swallowed sadness.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you—"

"Why the hell did you then?"

"—But I wanted to tell you I found out a way that we might be able to break your fever."

Romano's fierce glared faltered somewhat. He focused his glittery eyes on Spain, furrowing his brow. "Oh yeah?" he asked in a dubious voice. "If it involves taking some new kind of meds, forget it. I've been so stoned out of my mind for the past few days that my body has actually started rejecting medicine."

Spain couldn't help but chuckle at the disgruntled tone in Romano's voice. "No, no," he said, shaking his head. He picked up the pillows and placed them around Romano, helping the Italian into a more comfortable position. Romano's face paled and he shut his eyes in dizziness for a moment, his fingers clenching around Spain's arm. Spain bit his lip. "Are you okay?"

"I've been better," Romano answered, blinking his eyes open. He groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. "What's this way to break my fever you were talking about?"

"Ah, right." Spain sat on the edge of the bed, noticing that Romano hadn't let go of his arm yet. He didn't say or do anything because he knew that if he did, Romano would get embarrassed and let go. "Have you ever heard of sweating out a fever?" he asked. When Romano shook his head, Spain went on to explain, "Well, Francis told me about it, so I'm not too sure if it'll actually work or not, but we should give it a try. He said that if we make you get really hot and make you sweat a bunch, you might get hot enough to kill the virus causing the fever. So basically, we just have to make you get extremely hot and bothered."

"Hot and bothered?" Romano's eyes widened alarmingly and he flushed. "How do you plan to go about doing that?" he squeaked.

Spain raised an eyebrow and pointed to the pile of blankets on the floor and the hot water bottle on the night table. Romano suddenly looked a lot less nervous, shutting his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. Spain grinned at him. "Why? What were you thinking, Lovino?"

"Nothing!" Romano shouted, his face turning redder than a tomato. He half-heartedly punched Spain in the shoulder, glaring somewhere to the right and avoiding Spain's grinning face completely. "I wasn't thinking anything," he muttered, blowing his bangs out of his face. This was something he generally did when he was embarrassed, and it didn't pass by Spain unnoticed.

Spain leaned closer, until their noses were touching and he could see flecks of gold in Romano's angry, feverish amber eyes. "Really?"

"Yes!" Romano put his hands on Spain's shoulders and tried to shove him away. He was weak and unsuccessful, but Spain eventually pulled away on his own, still grinning.

"You're as bad of a pervert as Francis," he said under his breath.

"What?" Romano's voice had an edge to it. "What about France?"

"Nothing, nothing," Spain said lightly, hopping to his feet. He ignored the glower Romano sent him and bent to pick up the blankets, piling them at the foot of the bed. He grabbed the hot water bottle and made sure it was still hot enough before tossing it over to Romano. "Put this in your shirt."

Romano looked at him like he had a third eye. "No."

Spain furrowed his eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Because you're here. I'm not lifting my shirt while you're looking, pervert."

Spain rolled his eyes and turned his back to Romano. "Is this good enough?"

"No, you're peeking."

Spain looked back at him with an exasperated face. "Are you kidding me? I don't have eyes on the back of my head, Romano."

"But you're a pervert and you want to defile my body."

Spain had to take a deep breath so that he didn't freak out. "Romano," he said slowly. "I am not peeking. My back is to you and all I can see is the wall, and if I wanted to defile your body I would have by now." Which was a lie; he did indeed want to defile Romano's body, but he would never do that unless Romano said he could, which he wouldn't any time soon, since the little bugger was so damned stubborn. "Put the goddamned water bottle in your shirt before I go over there and do it myself."

Romano grumbled under his breath. There was a shuffling sound, then a moment later he muttered, "Done, you can look."

"_Dios_, finally." Spain turned around. "I'm going to put the blankets on you. Get comfortable."

Romano looked at him uncertainly. "I'm already hot enough, Spain. And being hot makes me want to throw up."

"Then I'll grab you a bucket, okay?"

"Well, okay..." Romano didn't look very pleased. "But—"

"Listen," Spain said softly. "I know I'm being mean right now, but I really want you to get better. I hate seeing you like this. If you throw up, you might throw up the virus, too. Then your fever will break, and you'll start getting better. I know it's not fun, and it sucks to puke, trust me, I was one of the people Prussia forced to eat that sandwich he found from World War Two." Romano looked faintly green at this, and Spain made a face. "Yeah, I know. But my point is, can we just give this a try?"

Romano sighed, nodding. "All right, we'll try it. But, can you..." He turned a delicate pink, the turned his head to the side quickly. "Never mind," he muttered.

Spain raised an eyebrow. "Can I what?"

"Nothing."

"Romano."

"Spain."

"_Romano._"

"_Spaaaain._"

Spain 'tsk'ed. "Lovino."

"Antonioooo."

Instead of saying something back, this time Spain just stared at Romano in that unnerving, unblinking way he did that somehow made Romano feel incredibly guilty and flustered all at the same time. Romano made a sound of annoyance, bringing his knees up to his chin. "Fine. Jeez, I was going to ask if you could stay with me, you bastard. But now I kinda don't want you to..." He was too stubborn to say how sad he'd been when Spain had left earlier, but there must have been something in his eyes since Spain smiled brilliantly, absolutely beaming.

"_Si_, of course!" the brunet said cheerfully.

Romano looked surprised. "Really? You're not worried about getting sick too?"

"Not at all! I don't mind. I just want to help you get better."

Romano suddenly felt like crying again. Why was Spain so nice to him? Why did he care so much? To hide his watery eyes and the lump in his throat, Romano slid down on the bed and curled up into a ball, bringing the sheets up to his nose. "_Grazie_," he said quietly. His voice was muffled, and if Spain wasn't mistaken, quite thick. He didn't comment.

"Are you going to put the blankets on me or just sit there staring at me like an idiot?" Romano asked gruffly. He didn't want them, but he was willing to give this a try. He was already breaking out in sweats, but his body was shivering and the sweat on his toes and back was cold. His stomach was churning and his mouth had too much saliva that felt like acid when he swallowed. He shut his eyes, taking deep breaths. He was tired of being sick, tired of seeing Spain worry about him like this. So he would follow through.

Spain looked down worriedly at Romano for a moment. He sighed and murmured an affirmative, piling on one, two, three mink blankets. Romano seemed fine for the moment, just a tiny little line appearing between his thin eyebrows. Spain was relieved.

"Is it too uncomfortable?" he asked, pushing Romano's damp hair away from his eyes.

Romano shook his head. "No," he said, sounding short of breath. "It's not too bad."

"Okay. I'm going to go and—"

A hand shot out from underneath the pile of blankets and Romano's eyes flew open. "No!" he said, his voice sounding scared. His fingers tightened in Spain's shirt. "Don't leave me."

Spain felt something inside of him shatter and thought that perhaps Romano was going to break his heart. "Shh, shh," he hushed Romano, who was struggling to sit up. Spain nearly burst into tears. He managed to give a watery smile and push Romano gently back into the pillows. "Don't worry, okay,_ mi tomate_? I'm just going to get you some water and grab a bucket just in case. I'll be right back."

Romano looked reluctant, but he slowly let go of Spain's shirt. "Promise you'll come back."

"I promise," Spain whispered, a lump forming in his throat. This was so wrong. Seeing Romano so week and needy like this was worse than if Romano was screaming at him to get out of his sight, because at least if he was doing that, Spain would know he was okay. "I promise I'll come back, and I'll sit with you until you want me to leave, okay?"

"Okay," Romano said, relaxing.

"Just rest for a bit. I'll be back in five minutes tops."

"Okay," Romano whispered again, shutting his eyes. Spain planted a soft kiss on his forehead and quickly retreated from the room before he started crying in front of Romano.

He shut the door softly behind him, leaning on it for a moment to try and collect himself. The tears that had been threatening to fall finally won him over and a few slid down his tanned cheeks. He clamped his eyes shut and put a hand over his mouth. Seeing Romano this sick made him want to throw up. Knowing that if Romano wasn't a country but just a normal human being, he would possibly end up dying from a fever this bad, made Spain so frightened that for a few moments, all he could do was stand there sobbing silently into his hand. He hated how he didn't even know what to do to make Romano get better. What if this didn't work? What if it just made the fever even worse? What if he—No. He couldn't think that way. He _wouldn't _think that way.

He bit down firmly on the insides of his cheeks, and the pain was enough to tear him out of the downwards spiral his thoughts were on. He straightened up and wiped his eyes roughly, swallowing hard. He had to be strong for Romano.

He pushed away from the door and went to go get the bucket from his basement and a glass of water as promised. He was so depressed that he didn't even register what he was doing and his movements were zombie-like. He was halfway up the stairs on his way back to his room where Romano was, when someone knocked on the front door. Pausing, he turned and called, "Who is it?"

"It's Germany." The voice was muffled. "Italy wanted me to drop something off."

Spain sighed. "Okay, come in."

The door opened, and in walked Germany, holding a jar of something that looked like soup. His blue eyes looked around for a moment in confusion, then he spotted Spain looking down at him from the staircase. "Ah... sorry to intrude."

"It's okay," Spain said. "What's that?"

Germany looked down at the jar in his hand. "Well, Veneziano has been sick with a fever for the past couple days, and Japan made this... soup. I think it's soup. Anyway, Italy's been eating it, and he's feeling better. He told me I should bring some to you, because Romano would likely be sick too..." He trailed off.

Spain nodded, smiling. "Thanks. Is it warm?"

Germany nodded. "Japan just made it."

"Okay then. Can you bring it upstairs?" Spain lifted the bucket and glass of water in his hands. "I would, but my hands are full."

The blond looked worried. "Romano is up there. I don't want to stress him out more than he already is..."

"It's fine."

Germany sighed, but didn't say anything, following Spain up the stairs. Once they got to the door that led to his room, Spain slowly opened it, peeking his head in. "Romano?"

"What?" came Romano's sleepy voice, muffled by all the blankets.

"Um... Germany is here."

There was silence, then a muttered, "Whatever."

Germany looked unnerved. "Is he okay?" he whispered. "He's not attempting to end my life."

Spain shook his head, not knowing what to answer with. Finally he said, "He's pretty bad, but we're working on getting him better. This soup might help." He opened the door and walked in, followed closely by Germany. Spain set the bucket next to Romano's bedside and put the glass of water on the night table, sitting down on the edge of the bed and placing his palm on Romano's forehead. "You're hotter than you were before."

Romano's eyes peeked at him from under the blankets and there was an unmistakeable 'no shit Sherlock' look in them. "Really? I wonder why," he muttered sarcastically. His eyes shifted to the left, behind Spain. "Hey, bastard."

Germany now seemed very alarmed. "Um... hi. I brought... soup. No, it's not poisoned," he said with a sigh when Romano opened his mouth. "Japan made it and there are some herbal remedies in it. Italy told me you would like it."

Romano sighed. "I was going to say thanks. Is Veneziano sick too?"

"_Ja_, but he's getting better. He's been throwing up and stuff, and you wouldn't believe how loud he screamed when he found out pasta makes him throw up..."

Romano laughed a bit. "Good, I'm not suffering alone then." His eyebrows drew together. "He's getting better, you say? How?"

Germany shrugged. "He sweat it out."

"Yes! So it works?" Spain cut in excitedly. Germany nodded.

"I wouldn't say it works one hundred percent of the time... but it did make his fever break."

"Did you drown him in blankets like Spain's doing to me?"

"Um..." Germany flushed slightly. "Yeah," he said, obviously lying. "That's what I did."

Romano didn't notice his fib, but Spain did. He raised an eyebrow and grinned, looking at Germany's slightly pink face. The German cleared his throat and straightened up. "Well, I should get going... Italy's going to scream at me being gone so long..."

Romano nodded and Spain stood up. "Want me to walk you to the door?"

Germany shook his head. "No, that's fine. I'll see myself out. I hope you feel better soon, Romano." With that, he turned on his heel and left. After hearing the front door slam, Spain smiled and looked down at Romano again.

"Well, that was weird."

Romano glowered at him. "What?"

"You didn't try to kill Germany, and you were even _nice_." He put a hand to his chest in exaggerated shock. "My, my. Maybe you should get sick more often if you're going to be this sociable."

Romano rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

Spain stood up again. "I'll to grab a bowl for the soup."

"Okay, fine. But hurry. I'm tired of being here alone. I counted the fingerprints on your window at least twenty times now."

Spain chuckled. Maybe Romano was starting to feel better. He was at least making jokes, now. "I love you, you know that?"

"Yeah yeah, now hurry up."

Shaking his head in amusement, Spain gave him one last kiss on the cheek before leaving the room.

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: So have you guys ever had a fever dream before? Like the most fucked up thing in the entire world and it happens when your fever breaks if you're sleeping. Every time I have a fever and I have a fever dream, it's usually so disturbing and weird that I end up screaming for my mom, and I never remember it when I wake up. I don't know how common fever dreams are, but yeah. Everyone in my family gets them and they are MESSED UP SHIT.**

**Yay Germany made an appearance I quite enjoy Germany! *hip thrust dance* AW YEAH. How was this chapter? Please review c: It will help Romano get better! :D **

**Oh yeah; rating might go up, still haven't decided. :U**


	3. Chapter 3

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Well those of you who were waiting for this, so sorry it took so long. Those of you who just find this, sorry if it sucks. D: It kind of seems like a filler chapter 'til the end. The end is important. IMPORTANT. SO IMPORTANT. MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU WILL EVER— *gets shot in face* **

**Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors, I wrote this on my phone then just emailed it to myself and uploaded it like that. My phone was really crappy autocorrect sooooo... yeah. Sorry. **

**Mostly there is just fluff and shit in this chapter. I don't own APH!**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

Over the next few days, Spain alternated between going out to get groceries, cuddling with Romano, doing laundry, making soup, and doing everything he could to make Romano more comfortable. It had been three days since they'd started keeping him surrounded by blankets and pillows and making him sweat, and it was doing something. Spain wasn't sure what, but it seemed to be good. Romano was still grouchy, but that was normal, and his voice had a bit more life in it now. He was still very obviously tired and sick, but he hadn't thrown up for two whole days and while he did sleep a lot more than normal, he seemed to have a bit more energy. Spain couldn't possibly be happier; his Romano was getting better! He could kiss France for giving him this idea. Well, maybe not literally. He didn't know where France's lips had been recently.

Today, they were lying in bed, Spain reading a book and Romano occasionally dozing off or just nattering and mumbling random things to Spain. Sometime around noon Spain had left to take a shower and had come back in a loose pair of sweat pants and a gray muscle shirt that Romano firmly believed _should not be so goddamned perfectly tight_ _around his stupidly sexy body_.

"Go change," Romano had said as soon as Spain had walked back into the bedroom. Spain had frozen, looking over at Romano with wide green eyes that made Romano feel more squirmy and fluttery than he'd like.

"Why?" Spain asked, looking down at himself. He stretched the shirt out, staring at it. "Do I have something on it?"

"No," Romano answered shortly. "Just change."

"Why?"

_Because getting a fucking boner while I'm sick with a fever is not the most fucking fun thing I've done in my life, you asshole! Jesus motherfucking Christ why the fuck are you so hot. Stop being flawless. _

"Because," Romano said. "That's a stupid shirt and you look ugly in it."

_That is a fucking_ amazing _shirt and you look_ gorgeous _in it._ Romano was silently thankful that Spain couldn't read his mind, because over the course of these last few days, he'd been realizing a lot about how he felt about him. For one, he'd realized that it was a bad idea to have Spain sleeping in the same room as him at night because of the weird dreams he'd started having. He'd found himself blushing (which he always had, he realized, but now it seemed like a bigger deal) and trying his hardest not to just ogle and creepily stare at Spain because he was the most _fucking gorgeous thing to look at _ in the room.

Romano hated it. He had been semi-fine with just being attached to Spain because the tomato-bastard was the one who'd raised him, who treated him good, who kept loving him and smiling all the time even when all Romano did was yell at him, but this? Falling in love with him? Getting _more_ than attached? Having these weird, sexual cravings for him? It was so wrong. He knew the church wouldn't approve. He would love to say that it was his fever causing him to think so weirdly, but he knew he was getting better, and he knew it wasn't that at all.

"I look ugly?" Spain's pouty voice drew his from his thoughts.

"Yeah, like..." Romano couldn't muster up the energy to make a comparison and just let it trail off.

Spain rolled his eyes. "I think the fever must be messing up your eyesight. I'm never ugly." Still, he walked to the dresser on the other side of the room and pulled out a white T-shirt. Romano tried not to stare at Spain's back as the brunet pulled the muscle shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. How could someone's _back_ be so sexy? Romano made a growling sound of frustration, slipping a hand under the multiple blankets to press against his growing erection.

He felt uncomfortably hot again. He had been starting to cool down, he thought, but now he was all flustered and bothered. "Toni," he found himself saying weakly.

Spain turned around in the midst of putting on his new shirt. He let his arms fall, stopping. "What?"

"Uhm... I want, I... uh... I feel really gross. Can I go shower?" Romano couldn't believe he was resorting to this, but he just needed a goddamn break.

"Oh, _si_. Of course." Spain moved to go and help him walk, but Romano quickly shook his head.

"I'm fine. Put on your damn clothes, I can make it to the bathroom on my own."

Spain shrugged. "Have it your way. But be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything."

"Yeah, yeah."

"_Be care_—"

"Fuck, bastard, I'm not a child. I can s_hower_ without killing myself."

Spain muttered something that implied he doubted that, but Romano ignored him.

He got a strong dizzy spell as he stood up, but he refused to let Spain help him. He stood there wobbling for a moment, hoping Spain wouldn't notice, until his vision finally cleared up and the world stopped spinning off its axis. As quickly as he could without stumbling, he left the room, grabbed towel from the hall closet, and hurried into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind him and heard Spain yelp in fright in the next room. It helped ease his frustration, at least a little bit.

**xxXXxxXXxx**

Later that day, Romano was napping and Spain was downstairs in the living room, playing Angry Birds on his phone and half-watching the news. Right after Romano had come back into the room from his shower, he'd collapsed onto the bed and fallen asleep immediately. Spain had taken this as a cue to leave, and after bringing two of the many blankets up to Romano's shoulders, he had done just that.

He didn't have much to do around the house, but he didn't want to leave, in case Romano called for him. He wondered vaguely if he should be annoyed by Romano's neediness when the he was sick, but for some reason, he wasn't. It was strange how absolutely fine he was with staying in to take care of him.

He sighed. "What a pain," he mumbled to himself. _Guess that's what happens when you fall in love..._

He felt kind of stupid, actually. He'd always known he'd cared for Romano, as more than just the person who raised him and more than as a friend. He'd always _wanted_ him, all of him. He couldn't deny that Romano was special to him, very special, despite being a huge pain in the ass. However, he'd only just realized during these past few days that it had very possible gone past _I care about him_, to something a lot more like _I love him_. He wasn't quite sure when these stronger feelings had developed, but after some thinking, he realized that they must have been there all along.

A sudden series of excited knocking at his front door made him jump and drop his phone. "One second!" he yelled, hastily standing up and smoothing his shirt, vaguely annoyed. He went over to the door. Through the blurred windows he could see a bouncing amber head and someone blond standing a little ways back and he smiled. He barely had time to open the door and get out an airy "_Hola_" before he was being tackled into a huge hug.

"_Hola_, Toni! How are you?"

Spain blinked a few times, then grinned widely. "Ah, Feli... and Germany, hey! What's up?"

Italy shot to his feet and smiled. "I came to see you and Romano! Is he feeling better? He must be, I am~"

"We just came by to say hello because Italy wouldn't shut up..." Germany murmured, shutting the door softly behind him. "We won't be long."

"It's fine," Spain said cheerfully. "You guys can stay as long as you want, but there's not really anything to do."

Germany nodded and looked like he wanted to say something in response, but Italy was talking again. "Is Romano okay? Where is he?" He peeked around Spain, as though he suspected the Spaniard was hiding Romano behind him or something.

"Um... yeah, I think he is feeling better." Spain smiled. "He's sleeping right now, but maybe—"

"Shut up, bastard," came a tired voice from the staircase. Italy and Spain looked up to see a sleepy looking Romano shuffling down the stairs, holding a fleece red blanket tight around his body. "I'm not sleeping. I couldn't with all you idiots making such a racket..."

"_Fratello!_" Italy cried, running up the stairs to tackle his older brother into a crushing hug. Romano yelped and cursed in Italian as they both fell to the ground in a graceless heap, somehow not tumbling down the stairs.

Both Germany and Spain hurried up the stairs. "Are you guys okay?" Spain demanded.

"_Get the fuck off, dumbass_!"

"But _fratello_, I missed you~!"

"I don't fucking care, I think you just broke my, like... cervix!"

"Men don't have a cervix, Romano."

"Yeah," Germany said under his breath, "they're fine."

Spain chuckled, hauling Italy to his feet then holding his hand out to help Romano up. The Italian glared at him for a moment, then sighed and grabbed it. Spain tugged Romano into an upright position, grinning when they ended up barely an inch apart. Romano flushed and yanked his hand away, storming down the stairs past Germany and Italy and muttering curses at Spain under his breath. The brunet shook his head, smiling, and led his guests to the kitchen.

"I'll make some churros, _si_?"

"_Si!_" Italy squealed excitedly. He waved his arms frantically at Germany. "Germany! Germany! Are you gonna have some?"

"Uhm," said the blond, who was standing uncertainly by the doorway, "sure. I guess."

"They're so good~" Italy skipped over to him. "Can I help?"

"Of course! You get the dry ingredients, okay? And Germany, you can come in, you know," Spain said, laughing. "I'm not going to bite."

"He's lying," Romano muttered, walking into the kitchen. He flopped gracelessly into a chair at the table, his head connecting with the table with a loud _thunk_. He groaned. "Toni, this isn't working. Sweating it out is just making me want to puke. All I want to do is eat a motherfucking tomato but I can't even _look_ at one without wanting to die."

"It works, _fratello_!" Italy said, looking at his brother worriedly. "It worked for me."

"Your immune system is better," Romano snapped. "It always has been."

Germany cleared his throat. "When did you guys start?"

"A couple days ago," Romano grumbled.

"Four days ago," Spain clarified. "That day you came over, Germany."

"Ah... well, I don't know if this is relevant or important, but it took Feli a few days too. It sort of happened over the course of near a week." He shrugged. "If you're feeling a bit better, Romano, that's how it was with Italy. It just takes time."

Romano stared at him for a long moment, his eyes glittering unhealthily. Germany shifted uncomfortably. "What?" he said.

"Bastard," Romano mumbled before dropping his face back onto the table.

Spain couldn't help but let out a puff of air in amusement. "See, Romano? Just be patient. Your body needs time to heal."

"My body has had a couple weeks to heal. It should hurry the fuck up."

"Maybe all you need is some love, _si_?" Italy chirped. "That's how Germany cured me!"

Romano's head lifted off the table to glare daggers at his brother. "Excuse me?" he said darkly.

"Yeah! We—"

Germany loudly cleared his throat. "Uhm, Italy, Romano doesn't want to hear about that."

"Oh," Romano said. "I do."

"Ah... no."

"Ah, _yes_."

"I insist that you don't. It's terribly boring."

"What?" Italy cut in, his eyes watery. "You think it's boring?"

"No—that's not what I meant..."

"Please, do explain yourself."

"Yeah, Germany! Don't you love me?" Italy said, bottom lip trembling. "You told me you did..."

"I-I do, Feli, I just—I don't really think this is something we should discuss when Romano isn't feeling well—or ever, actually..."

"I think now is a perfect time," Romano said curtly, standing up. "Bastard, what the fuck did you do to my brother?"

Italy, who was smiling again after Germany begrudgingly admitted to loving him, exclaimed cheerfully, "We made love!"

There was a long silence. Romano stared with bulging eyes at Germany, Germany looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die, Italy looked clueless and happy, and Spain was in the process of pouring flour into the mixture in the saucepan on the stove. He was watching the argument with pursed lips and a crease between his eyebrows.

Finally Romano said edgily, "You did what?"

"We—"

"I _heard_ you!" Romano snapped.

"Then why—?"

"Motherfucker, you think you can touch my brother like that? I am going to fuck you up so bad! You fucking _bastard_—"

"Romano—" Italy tried to say, but Romano glared at him and he shut up immediately.

Germany looked extremely uncomfortable and was beginning to look slightly pissed off. "_Mein Gott_, Romano, it's not like I raped him!"

"That's what you want us to think, you fucker—"

"Lovino," Spain said quietly. "That's enough."

Romano turned to him in disbelief. "You're taking his side?"

"No, I'm not taking anyone's side. This is a ridiculous argument. You already knew Veneziano and Germany are going out, why are you making such a big deal about it now?"

"Because—the bastard slept with my brother!"

Germany put his hand to his forehead and sighed. "Romano, listen. As hard as it is for you to grasp this, I really do love your brother. Feli means everything to me. I can honestly swear on my life that I've never done anything he doesn't want to."

"_Si_, that's true!" Italy put in, seeming relieved that the argument was dissipating. "Germany is really nice to me, Romano. You don't have to worry."

Romano looked at them for a long moment, and then his glare faded. He fell onto the chair in defeat. "Fine. Sorry," he mumbled. "But just so you know, potato bastard, if you ever do anything to hurt my brother..." He slid his finger across his throat. "I'm going to fucking_ kill_ you."

"I know."

Spain sighed in relief. "Wow, now that that is dealt with... Italy, do you still want to help make churros?"

Just like that, the tense mood was gone. Italy skipped over to Spain and they began excitedly chattering at each other as Germany and Romano awkwardly sat off to the side. Germany began fiddling with his cell phone and Romano suddenly felt very exhausted, as if the spat earlier had drained him. He got up and started to slink away towards the stairs, hoping no one would notice.

"Lovi, where are you going?"

Romano looked back to see Spain's worried eyes looking at him from across the kitchen. For some reason, his throat suddenly became thick and he wanted to cry. He just didn't understand why Spain cared so much. Usually nothing could deter him from making churros when he was in the process of doing so, but for some reason without any provocation he was turning to make sure Romano was okay. Romano swallowed hard. _I will never understand this guy._

"I'm not feeling all that great..." he said. "I'm just gonna go back upstairs."

"Oh, okay." Spain wiped his hands on a towel. "I'll walk you upstairs."

"No," Romano said, too quickly. Spain looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Why not?"

"I just, um, you have guests, bastard. I can walk up the stairs and crawl into a bed by myself."

"If you say so... I'll come up and check on you in a bit, okay?"

"I'm not a child," Romano grumbled.

"I know," Spain said seriously. Behind him, Italy was dancing around and poking Germany and generally being noisy, but Spain didn't even blink. "I know you're not a baby anymore, Romano, trust me. I've been here your whole life. The only reason I'm being so annoying is because I care."

Romano didn't know what to say. He didn't trust himself not to cry, so he just nodded mutely and turned on his heel, leaving the kitchen as quickly as he could.

**xxXXxxXXxx**

A while later, as Romano was huddled under blankets and reading one of the random books he'd found on Spain's dresser, Spain walked in, a glass bowl in his hands. Romano barely looked up as the brunet approached the bed.

"The churros are done, do you want some?" Spain asked, gesturing to the bowl.

"Sure," Romano mumbled, grabbing one. He took a bite and his taste buds practically sang in delight at the familiar crunchy sweetness. Mostly he was just relieved his taste had come back enough to actually be able to taste the churros. After a moment of chewing, he asked, "Shouldn't you be downstairs with Veneziano and potato bastard?"

Spain shook his head, setting the bowl down on the night table before walking over to his side of the bed. "No," he said. "They left a few minutes ago, and I wanted to come check in on you. How are you feeling?"

Romano shrugged. "Better, I guess." He didn't want to admit it, but he did feel better now that Spain was here. _This is stupid. I shouldn't be this attached._ He cleared his throat. "So are you going anywhere, or are you staying?"

"Want me to stay?"

"I don't care," Romano lied, feigning indifference.

"I'll stay, then." Spain settled himself down, reaching over to grab his latest book from the night table on his side of the bed. Romano said nothing, not wanting to admit that that made him happy, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

Romano tried to keep reading, but couldn't keep his eyes from wandering over to Spain. The brunet looked calm and at peace as his green eyes flicked through sentence after sentence, and for some reason Romano couldn't look away. He bit his lip. What was it about this guy that made him so... happy? His eyes felt teary again, for a reason he couldn't understand. God, he hated being sick. It was like being on an emotional rollercoaster and since he couldn't do anything, he was stuck with his own thoughts in his head. Most of the time, that wasn't somewhere he wanted to be.

He wished it didn't have to be like this. He didn't want to love the bastard and have to live with the fact that he would never love him back, would only see him as that annoying yet bearable child he'd sacrificed a couple centuries of his life to raise. Nothing more than a brother, or maybe a friend. He didn't want to love someone that liked his brother better. He didn't want to love someone he could never have. _He didn't want to love Spain, dammit._

Spain looked up then and caught Romano staring. The redhead quickly looked away, flushing at being caught.

"What?" Spain asked.

"Nothing."

"Oh?"

Romano couldn't think of a way to explain, so he blurted the first thing that came to his mind. "So... you looked happy about seeing Veneziano."

"Hmm? Oh, I guess," Spain said distractedly, not noticing the resentful look in Romano's eyes. "Haven't seen him in a while. It was nice, he's still cute as ever."

"Hn."

Spain looked over upon hearing the monotone response. "What's wrong?" he asked. Romano's bottom lip was trembling and he swallowed heavily, looking like he was about to burst into tears. Spain sat up straighter, alarmed. "Lovino?"

"Nothing's wrong, bastard!" Romano snapped, but his voice was shaky. _Oh god, no, not right now, I don't want to lose it in front of him! _ "Leave me alone, dammit. I'm fine."

"No you're not, you look ready to start crying!" Spain set his book down on the table next to his bed. "What's wrong? Tell me, please, I don't want to see you upset." His heart felt heavy. He hated when Romano cried; it made him want to cry, and often did. Romano was shaking his head furiously, hazel eyes glittery. "Please?"

_You bastard, stop being so nice! Stop treating me like you love me!_ "No," Romano ground out. _Drop it, Toni. Just drop ._

"Come on, Lovi, it breaks my heart to—"

"Breaks your heart _my ass_!" Some sort of dam seemed to break, and suddenly Romano was blurting out words like a waterfall. "I don't know why you even let me come here. I'm such a fucking pain in the ass and I know you hate sitting here with me and doing everything for me and I know you wish I was Feliciano, don't you? Don't even deny it! I know I'm a pain in the ass! I know you can't wait for me to get better already so you can just fucking kick me out of your house and get rid of me. I made a huge scene over something stupid earlier because of a stupid grudge. All I do is complain about everything and insult you and say I hate you even though I don't, I _love_ you so much, but I know you just hate me. And I _get it_, okay? I know he's better than me and I know I'm annoying and mean and bitter. You probably wish I was him, he's not hard to like. Not hard to _love_. _Fuck_." His voice broke on the last word, and he choked on a sob, covering his mouth with his hand.

Spain was shocked. He heard Romano say he loved him, and as much as that made his heart pound, that wasn't what he was concerned about right now. He sat there gaping at Romano for a minute or two, unable to form any words.

Romano was shaking, trying desperately to not start crying. _That went downhill fast,_ he thought bitterly to himself.

Finally, Spain managed to get out, "Romano... we've been over this before..."

"_I know,_" Romano hissed, trying to sound angry but failing. A tear fell down his cheek and he wiped at it angrily. "You can stop lying now."

"I'm not... I'm not lying, Romano." Spain finally got over the shock of Romano's sudden rant and frowned deeply. "I don't want Veneziano instead of you, I don't know where you got that idea."

"You."

"Me? Look... I know... when I first got you, I was like that, okay? But don't you think if I still felt that way I would have left you long ago?"

"You did," Romano accused, glaring at him. "You kicked me out, asshole."

Spain flinched. "I didn't... Romano, you are a country, of course you had to go out and live on your own. Be independent. That doesn't mean I wanted you gone, I..." Spain swallowed and flushed slightly. "I actually really didn't want you to go. I argued with Her Majesty and all those higher ups to let you become... Become part of Spain, but still be your own country and have your own rules, but no one let me. I didn't have a choice but to let you go."

Romano was silent. Spain thought that maybe Romano was mad, r_eally_ mad this time, and was about to leave to avoid a fight. Just as he was turning away, swallowing hard, he felt a burning hot hand wrap around his wrist. He looked back to see Romano's angry yet somehow vulnerable and uncertain eyes glaring at him, his mouth opening then closing and then opening again uncertainly.

Finally, he managed to get some words out in a weak voice. "You're lying."

"I'm not," Spain shot back, growing frustrated. He sat back down on his side of the bed—which he could swear had his ass indented onto it from these last few days—and grabbed Romano's arms. He looked into his eyes and tried to make the Italian believe him. "Listen to me. I... I love you, okay? I don't want Veneziano."

"Why not? He's better than me. He's cuter, he's nicer, he's more talented—"

"He's not you."

Romano's breath left him in a shallow exhale. The conflict in his eyes was very visible. Spain could clearly see the disbelief mixed with the want to trust and accept, and he understood. Romano had every right to feel so shocked, he thought angrily. Everyone always went on about Veneziano and Romano was always in his younger brother's shadow. He waited until Romano finally swallowed hard and whispered, "I d-don't—I don't know how to... how do I know you're not lying?"

Spain was honestly tired of trying to use words to convince Romano he was speaking the truth. Without speaking, he raised a hand and placed it on Romano's cheek, rubbing his thumb over the flushed, tear-soaked skin. Alarmed, Romano's hand automatically shot up to grab Spain's arm. Before he could get out a stuttered "B-bastard, what—?" Spain pressed their lips softly together. Romano panicked, his fingers tightening on Spain's arm almost painfully and a gasp leaving his mouth, but not a moment later, he seemed to melt. Almost hesitantly, he responded, uncertainly moving his lips back against Spain's. After a long moment, the brunet drew back, a small smile on his face.

"I love you," he said again, pressing his forehead to Romano's. The Italian was flushed and looked teary-eyed again.

"Stupid," he ground out in a choked up voice. He wrapped his arms around Spain's neck and buried his face in his chest, heart hammering. "I love you too."

Spain never thought that four words could make him so happy. He squeezed Romano, maybe a bit more than necessary, and planted a kiss on his head. Romano twitched and pulled away slightly to glare up at Spain.

"Bastard, don't touch that curl!"

Spain chuckled. "_Lo siento_, my bad."

"You did it on purpose," Romano muttered.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Kiss."

"What?"

Romano squeaked in surprise when Spain suddenly pressed their mouths together again, grinning hugely. Flushing, he kissed back for a moment, before growling and trying half-heartedly to push him away. Spain grinned, their lips barely an inch apart. "I can't kiss you again?"

"N-no, it's not that—it's j-just—Aren't you scared of getting sick?"

"I told you before I don't care if I do." Spain's smile was making Romano's insides feel warm and tingly. Up close, he could notice little specks of turquoise in Spain's bright green eyes and for some reason, it gave him butterflies. He wondered vaguely if inside, Spain was thinking anything similar about him.

"All I care about is you."

"God, you're such a freak," Romano breathed, fighting a goofy smile.

"But you love me," Spain said softly as he brushed their lips together. Something fluttered in Romano's belly. He turned bright red and swallowed in an attempt to calm his heartbeat.

"Yeah," he whispered, not quite trusting his voice. He smiled softly and hesitantly raised a hand, running his fingers through Spain's curly brown hair. "I guess I do."

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Rushed ending!? O.o I suck! Writer's block was like NOT TODAY BITCH and so I was like *sigh* and wrote the ending as well as I could. Hopefully it wasn't too disappointing...? This is like the end, sort of. But like not really. 'Cause it just isn't a good end for this fic. Well, it's the end of the rated T part of this fic, so if that's all you're into, this may be goodbye. *waves handkerchief and sobs***

**At some point I will get around to writing the actual end. With um... well, sex. Maybe. If I can still write smut. :DDDD I don't know how I did with this chapter. Ah, well. Thanks for reading and lease let me know what you think!**


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